


Drown Me

by Giroshane



Series: The Bullfighter's Grief [1]
Category: Book of Life (2014)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mild Gore, Toro Tango, Violence, and no one is happy, it's all very very sad, it's sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 20:08:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4234950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Giroshane/pseuds/Giroshane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos has moments, dark moments, like he's caught in the ocean in a hurricane with nothing to keep him from drowning. But Carmen was his rock, the one who made him believe that he was strong enough, that he was worth it.<br/>She was his rock.<br/>Was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drown Me

When Carmen hears the knock on the door--to be more apt, the pounding on the door--her heart soars. Holding Manolo close in one arm, she quickly opens the door with the other. When she sees who it is, her heart immediately sinks.

It's not Carlos.

"Señora," the soldier's voice is panicked and urgent, "we're being pushed back. Everyone must evacuate to the church now."

"But--"

"There's no time." He cuts her off, already backing away from the door. " I have to tell everyone. Stay away from the main streets!" He calls over his shoulder as he breaks into a run towards the next house.

Carmen stares after him for a moment, before pivoting on her heel towards Luis and his mother, both in the sitting room. Despite the explosions and the gunfire echoing in the distance, Anita is still resolutely focused on her knitting, as if nothing is wrong. Luis had been sitting with his arms crossed and tapping his foot impatiently--he was and is furious that he wasn't allowed to fight with the other men being called to action (despite his arguments, at 65 Luis was a little too old to be fighting in battle). Carlos had only minimally placated him by telling him that he was in charge of defending the family if all went wrong. When the soldier had arrived though, he jumped to his feet.

"You heard him. Go to the church." Carmen says. Luis immediately gets behind the wheelchair and pushes it towards the door.

"Take the alleyways," she reminds him as they go out into the street. She stays in the doorway. Luis looks over his shoulder.

"Come on, Carmen!"

Carmen shakes her head no. She can't leave. Not yet.

"What, you mean you're staying? Are you crazy?" Luis snaps loudly. Anita hushes him.

"It'll be safer if we go in small groups."

Luis sees right through her.

"No! You can't just wait for him! It's too dangerous! Carlos will come to the church!"

Carmen shakes her head no again.

"Don't worry. I'll only be a few minutes, I swear. Then I'll be right behind you."

"Carmen, at least give us Manolo. He'll be safer with us."

Carmen can't deny that. If she is going to do something dangerous, she can't risk Manolo's safety, even if it pains her just to lose sight of him. The one-year-old is nuzzling into her shoulder, whining a little. It is far past his bedtime, but with all the racket it's no wonder the little boy can't sleep. She smiles at that little curl of hair on his head. Even this young, he is the spitting image of his father.

"Alright." She passes the boy off to his grandfather. She should have known that would be a mistake. Immediately he starts to cry. Loudly.

"Here. Give him to me." Anita sets aside her knitting. In the brief moment Manolo is passed over to her, he calms, but as soon as he realizes she isn't his Mama, he starts to cry again. Even when she tries bouncing him on her knee, which usually sends him into peals of laughter, he refuses to calm down.

"Aquí, aquí. Devolverle." Carmen reaches out for him. Once Manolo is in her arms again he starts to quiet.

"If he cries he'll draw attention to you. Just go. I'll follow, I promise." She tells Luis. The man hesitates, clearly wanting to argue, but at that moment far over the lake a bomb explodes, making everyone jump. Manolo starts to scream. The bloom of fire in the night sky makes Carmen's heart skip a beat.

"Just go!" She cries. Luis throws one last concerned look over his shoulder before running off, pushing Anita ahead of him. Carmen rushes back into the house, slamming the door behind her. She immediately begins pacing, trying to calm Manolo down.

"Sh, sh," she coos, "Cálmate, mi'jo, cálmate. Todo va a estar bien."

When he doesn't stop crying, she starts to sing. She sings the lullaby she always sings. She waits.

~

"Sanchez, look out!"

Carlos turns on his heel to face the gun pressed squarely against his back. In a split-second reaction he shoves the gun down as it goes off.

" _Fuck!_ " Carlos yells in agony as his leg buckles from under him. The pain of the bullet reverberates all the way through him and he's never felt pain like this before and he's fairly certain he never wants to again.

He has no time to wallow, however. The soldier who shot his ankle is still bearing down on him with a sword, gun discarded for lack of ammunition. He raises his own swords above him to block the downswing, supporting himself on one knee. The resulting clang burns and he grits his teeth, fighting to hold his own. Steel is edging dangerously close to his face.

Just when he can't hold up any longer the soldier is barreled away, but the sword is still too close and it slashes across his eye. He cries out as the force of it knocks him backwards. For a moment he lays there, reeling from the pain in his face and in his leg, before trying to open his eyes. His left eye burns far too much, but the right one opens wide to the figure towering above him. It takes him a moment to recognize who it is reaching out a hand for him to take.

"When I said look out, I expected you to dodge, torero." Captain Mondragon grunts as he helps Carlos to his feet. Carlos keeps his weight off his injured ankle.

"Sometimes you can't dodge, soldado. It was either a bullet through my leg or a bullet through my chest." He pants bitterly.

The battle is in a slight lull, allowing the two to catch their breath. Carlos uses his sword to cut off a strip off his shirt and bends down to wrap his ankle, letting the Captain watch his back for him. It's no argument--they'd be dead if not for Joaquin and his leadership. Even if he wasn't an amazing fighter, Joaquin's speech had rallied everyone to fight. And even Carlos can concede that the man is a brilliant strategist. It's half the reason San Ángel is still standing. But the amount of men fighting has fallen since the fight began, significantly.

"Do you need to stop?" The Captain asks. He doesn't even look that tired. Or wounded. Carlos spits out some of the blood that dripped into his mouth as he straightens up.

"No, no, I'm fine, I'm fine." Carlos turns to throw himself back into the fray, but a strong grip on his shoulder turns him right back.

"Now I know you're not fine. If you were fine, you'd try to insult me to save your wounded pride."

Carlos would bristle if he had the strength, but the truth is, he doesn't. Besides his now injured leg and eye, he's covered in cuts and bruises and he feels more sore than any day in the ring. Not that he would ever admit it.

"Don't presume to know how I--" Carlos is cut off by a cloth being wrapped around his head and over his eye with gentle hands. In the heat of battle, he's forgotten how gentle Joaquin can be when he wants to. It strikes him silent.

"Carlos, we have to fall back and regroup. I've already sent men out to evacuate everyone that hasn't already left to the church. I want you to go with them. Can you walk?" His voice isn't harsh like Carlos expects it to be. Still, he pulls (more like staggers) away from the gentle hands, grip on his swords tightening.

"Walk? I can fight! I can--"

"Carlos, te pequeña mierda, stop playing invincible! You'll only slow us down. Go with the others. Go to your family. Make sure they get to safety." Joaquin snaps.

Like the stubborn bull he is, Carlos opens his mouth to argue again, but suddenly Joaquin is shoving his head to the side. When Carlos straightens ready to scream with indignant anger, he sees the lit bomb in Joaquin's hand. The Captain examines the thing for a moment, practically nonchalantly, before launching it into the air. He looks at Carlos, eyes hard as flint, paying no heed to the bomb exploding over the lake behind him.

" _Don't argue, Sanchez._ "

At this point, Carlos knows better than to. He takes a wobbly step back.

"Eres un bastardo loco, Mondragon." He huffs. Joaquin smirks.

"Only when I need to be. Now go," he nods off towards the bullring, "we'll try to make sure no one follows."

Carlos turns and begins to hobble as fast as he can to his home. He can barely put any weight on his ankle and it slows him down, but there's still enough adrenaline in his system to keep him going. He ducks into alleyway after alleyway, taking every back way he knows because he can hear the gunfire from the main streets. He manages to stay out of sight until he's halfway home. It's just his luck an enemy soldier spots one of the few medallions left on his torn suit glinting in the light of an abandoned home (he's not even wearing the jacket anymore, why does this have to happen to him, god _dammit_ ).

"Aquí, un rezagado!"

There are more shouts but the first voice hushes them.

"I'll take care of him, you keep on ahead."

Carlos immediately turns and starts running, every footfall sending spikes of pain up his leg. He hears the cock of a rifle and he ducks and starts weaving. The bullet whizzes over his head and he curses. Luckily he's got enough of a head start on the bastard that when he exits the alley he swings out wide to appear as if he's crossing to another alley, but instead loops back around to the edge; he sheathes both of his swords. As soon as he sees the tip of a rifle he grabs it and shoves it back and up, butting the soldier in the nose. It's enough to let him wrench the weapon away. He jabs the rifle back blindly and manages to make the man double over with a hit to his stomach. Carlos delivers a final blow to the man's head while it's down. He drops like a stone.

Carlos reels into the wall, panting. For a brief moment he wonders if he should just head to the church. His family has surely been told to evacuate already. He'd get medical attention faster. The last thing he needs is to have his ankle or his eye permanently damaged. But he also knows his family. Luis was already angry enough that he wasn't allowed to fight, who's to say he isn't hunkering down to defend his home? Luis is even more obstinate than Carlos. But he's with two women of iron will. Luis will only put up so much resistance against his own mother, and with Carmen...

He remembers his last words to her.

_"Wait for me."_

Carmen won't go to the church. He has to go back home for her.

He pushes himself off the wall, and for a moment he's so disoriented and his world is spinning so fast and it's so dark that he thinks he'll pass out right then and there. Thankfully he doesn't, and after a few steps his world stills and he can run (hobble) onwards again, using the rifle as a makeshift cane. Thankfully no one else spots him on his way home.

The Sanchez house is dark when he finally gets within view of it. It is far more foreboding than he's ever known it to be, what with the bullring towering over it. Most of this area hasn't been reached by the enemy soldiers, but Carlos knows it won't stay that way for much longer. He only hopes Mondragon can pull through before half the town is wiped from existence.

There's no movement that he can see from across the street, hidden in an alley. At this point he should just head to the church. He turns, but then, out of the corner of his eye, he can see it. A faint shadow in the window. The curtains are drawn, but there must be a candle lit inside. Someone had to move to make that shadow. Someone is home.

Carmen.

Double checking the street, he gathers his strength before full on bolting across. He bites his cheek to keep from screaming as waves of pain crash over him; his leg is in agony, he's long since bled through the cloth he wrapped around it. In his haste he simply vaults over the front gate. It's not the best idea and instead of landing on his good foot, it skids and he lands on his back. It knocks the wind out of him. The rifle bounces on the ground.

"Mierda." He wheezes, trying to get his lungs functioning again. When he does, he snags the rifle and uses it to clamber back to his feet. Slower than ever, he makes his way down the path.

Putting most of his weight on the rifle, he manages to climb the stairs without too much difficulty. Still, by this time he's exhausted. And he's not thinking clearly. So, practically hunched over the rifle for support, he forgets to knock. And he's certainly not expecting sharp steel pressed against his throat when he lurches inside.

"Suelta el arma." It's a low hiss from the shadows, and it makes Carlos shiver. "Or by God you'll never see the light of day again, polla."

He swallows, and the sword edge scratches, but doesn't break skin. He smiles.

"Even if el polla es tu marido?"

The sword immediately clatters to the ground and there's a sharp gasp.

" _Carlos?_ "

She comes forward, and he can only see her very dimly in the moonlight from outside and in the faint glow of a solitary candle on the kitchen table, but seeing her is like a breath of fresh air.

"Mi amor," he murmurs as he tries very hard not to just fall into her arms.

"Carlos!" She pulls him in anyway, holding him close. The rifle drops to the floor again as he hugs her back. His fingers dig into her back. Her hands fist the fabric of his vest. Both of them are trying not to cry.

"Mi luz en la oscuridad." She whispers.

"Mi roca en el océano." He returns. She must feel something on her dress because she gasps and pulls away, hand reaching up to caress his face.

"Your eye! Oh no--"

"It's okay, it's okay. I don't think it's too bad. It's faring better than my leg, at least."

"What?" She's totally confused, before she looks down and manages to make out the giant bloodstain that is his right ankle. She gasps again.

"Oh my god, you need to sit down--"

"No no, there's no time. You shouldn't be here in the first place." Carlos shakes his head.

"I promised I'd wait for you. And even if I didn't, I couldn't. I've been trying to get Manolo to fall asleep and I only just got him down--"

"Wait, Manolo is here?" She can't be serious. She wouldn't dare put Manolo in danger like that. But sure enough, over her shoulder he can almost make out a bassinet.

"Carmen!" He hisses angrily. He pushes past her to the little boy in the bassinet. He can really only make out a dark lump in the poor lighting, but he knows it's his son. If he's not asleep, he's at least very quiet.

"What did you expect me to do? Every time I tried to give him to Luis or Anita, he'd start crying. He would have drawn too much attention if I let him go with them. And then he was scared to pieces when that bomb went off over the lake." Carmen snaps, although her voice his quiet.

"You can thank the Captain for that." Carlos mutters irritably.

"Of course I can." Carmen snorts.

He reaches out to the form in the bassinet, but with his weight all on one foot he ends up stumbling. Carmen is there to catch him.

"Amor, you need to sit down, at least to bandage your leg..."

Carlos shakes his head again.

"No, we need to leave, _now_. We have to get to the church. I'll rest when we get there."

"Carlos--"

" _Carmen_ , there's no ti--"

There's a pounding on the door, and it's far too aggressive to be anyone else but the enemy. There's only a second to react. Carlos pushes Carmen behind him and unsheathes his swords, and the door is kicked down.

Carlos charges, even though he's limping. The first thing he sees is a pistol.

"Take Manolo and run!" He screams. He shoves the arm holding the pistol up, and the gun discharges into the ceiling harmlessly, only sending dust down over their heads. It wakes the baby, though, and Manolo starts to cry. Carlos means to slash out with his swords, but his first move has brought him in too close to the soldier. Instead he head butts him, and he hears a satisfying crunch and yell of pain.

Unfortunately he's too close to dodge the elbow that swings up from the right and slams his temple. It sends him staggering to the side, and he's trying to recover as fast as he can, but his vision is swimming. There's a sharp kick to his back and that's it, he's down. He can't move fast enough. He won't be able to protect his child, or his wife.

But suddenly Carmen is there, Carmen is fighting. Carlos rolls over in time to see her kick the soldier in the groin, yet not quite dodge the man's wild swing as he doubles over.

"Puta! Don't get your little housewife hands dirty. You don't know how to fight." The soldier spits. Carmen rubs her jaw where the fist connected. She's angry, the angriest Carlos has ever seen her.

"You hear that Carlos?" She growls, picking up the sword she used earlier (which is actually one of his grandmother's old estoques) off the ground and twirling it in her hand, "I guess that means I _wasn't_ trained my brother, Justice Jaguar!"

She yells the superhero's name like a war cry as she lunges with a vicious downswing. The soldier rolls and dodges the blade, rolling right back to his feet.

" _Rivera._ " He mutters darkly. He raises the pistol again but luckily Carmen springs into the attack, sword a whirlwind of steel. She fights like she dances, every move gracefully deadly. It's as mesmerizing as it is nerve-wracking; as Carlos slowly brings himself to his feet his heart skips beats at every dangerous feign Carmen pulls. Unfortunately the soldier is faster, and although he cannot break away enough to fire his gun he dodges every one of her swings and thrusts. Still, the woman is a relentless, terrifyingly beautiful onslaught (Carlos can almost picture it, her, a warrior angel sent from heaven to deliver God's wrath). Soon the soldier's uniform is more tatters than uniform. If only she could just land a blow on the damn bastard!

It seems as if they'll reach an impasse, when suddenly the soldier produces a dagger. Carmen doesn't seem to notice it, but Carlos does.

" _Carmen!_ " He launches himself in between the two.

He screams as the knife is buried hilt-deep into his right shoulder. It mingles with Carmen's and Manolo's in his head and it takes every ounce of strength not to pass out. A foot crashes into his ribs and he can hear them snap, feel them break as he's thrown to the ground by the force of it. The first thing he can think to do is rip the dagger out of his shoulder, but Carmen is already ahead of him. She's not even looking at him when she yanks the blade out, not even reacting to the way he screams through his teeth at the action. She's screaming curses and moves to attack, armed with both the knife and the sword. But she's not fast enough. The soldier has the gun aimed straight between her eyes and everything comes to a standstill.

"Ah ah ah," he tuts mockingly. He's panting very hard. "Let's not be too rash, shall we?"

Neither man sees her quickly sheath the dagger in the sash of her dress. The soldier is too busy trying to stare her down, and Carlos is too busy watching where the target of the gun is moving to.

"I'd hate to ruin that cradle."

"No!" Carlos gasps, quickly scrabbling backwards on his hands and feet until his back hits the edge of it and all he can think is to protect Manolo, prevent this _monster_ from hurting his child.

Carmen is frozen to the spot, sword slipping from her hand to clatter on the ground.

"You know, I wasn't expecting to find a Rivera here in some backwater peasant village," the scorn can be heard in the soldier's voice. He steps forward and Carmen steps back in equal measure. "And certainly not _the_ Carmen Rivera. It's a shame you left Mexico City. Your voice, your dancing, it was the most beautiful thing on this earth."

During the soldier's monologue Carlos manages to pull himself to his feet. The gun is still pointed at his--still crying--son. He dutifully places himself between the two, one hand covering the wound on his shoulder that's bleeding profusely, the other a tight grip on his sword, leaning on it for the barest support.

The soldier tilts his head.

"It still could be." It's an attempt at softness, but it comes out nothing short of terrifying. "If you came with me, Señorita Rivera, you'd be safe. You could sing in Mexico City again, and never ever be hurt."

Carmen's hands clench into fists. She meets the soldier's eyes with cold fury.

"What makes you think I would _ever_ give up my family for the likes of _you_?" She snarls. And, because her temper has never been wise: "You can take that gun and shove it up your ass."

That's enough to incite the man, and he raises his hand to slap her. She doesn't flinch. There is no strike. The soldier instead strokes his chin thoughtfully, smugly, as if she did flinch, as if she's a cowering damsel, as if he's successfully intimidating her (which he certainly isn't).

"Tales of your fire are almost as rampant as the tales of your voice, Señorita."

“ _Señora._ " She spits.

The soldier continues unimpeded.

"I can see you're going to make this a fight, so how about we make a deal?"

He cocks the pistol. The resounding click echoes through the house, louder than Manolo's whimpering. It's still pointed at the baby, but Carlos is a wall between the weapon and its target.

"You come with me, and not a hair on you gorgeous head will be hurt. And maybe, _maybe_ , I won't shoot your husband and child dead."

"No, no te atrevas--" Carlos tries to protest, but the soldier shifts the gun's aim and fires. It misses Carlos and hits the wall, but only barely, and it doesn't fail to make Carmen cry out.

"Next time, I won't miss," the soldier cocks the pistol again, voice cold, "so make your choice."

This can't be happening. Carmen can't do this, she can't say yes to him, Carlos _can't lose her like this_. But she looks as if she's considering it, actually considering it. God, what is she doing!?

"You won't hurt them?" Her voice is quiet.

"Carmen, don't--" Carlos tries.

" _Carlos._ " She snaps, glaring at him. There's no anger in it, only fear. She turns back to the soldier.

"Not a scratch, my dear," the soldier answers. "They can even come and visit, if they can figure out which side of this pathetic war is the right one."

"Carmen, _please._ " He hates that he's begging, he hates that he's stooping so low, but he can't let her do this, he just can't.

She ignores him.

"You promise?" Her voice is dead.

"Every word."

No. No no no no no no no.

She closes her eyes, as if gathering her strength, and when she opens them again, she looks broken. Defeated. Every part of Carlos hurts because he's never seen her like this and he doesn't want to see her like this.

"Alright. I'll go with you."

"Wise decision." The soldier is grinning, that arrogant son of a bitch is grinning. It's more than Carlos can take. He moves forward, voice rising in volume.

"Escoria de la tierra, voy a rasgar su garganta--"

In retrospect, he shouldn't have done that. The soldier seizes Carmen by the front of her dress and yanks her in front of him. He points the gun at her temple, arm wrapping tightly around her waist to keep her from struggling.

"Fuck you." She hisses, but it's ignored.

"Watch your tongue, torero." The soldier snaps. "I said _maybe_ I wouldn't hurt you and your offspring." He points the gun at Carlos again. "Don't make me change my mind."

He starts to walk backwards, towards the door, pulling Carmen with him. He kisses her temple, just to rub it in; Carmen visibly recoils. Carlos wants to fight, wants to scream, but there's nothing he can do without getting everyone killed.

"Say your last goodbye, sweetheart," the soldier says, "You're going to a much better place."

"Oh I might be," Carmen growls, and Carlos can see her shifting, one hand moving to the small of her back. "But you're not."

In the blink of an eye she's shoving the soldier's arm away with a yell, whirling on her heel, taking him by surprise. Carlos doesn't even see it until it's embedded in the soldier's chest: the knife from before.

"Púdrete en el infierno!" Carmen twists the knife. The soldier gargles, eyes wide. She lets go and he staggers back, back into the wall. His hand goes to the knife, face blank with shock. His legs give out and he slides down.

Carmen takes a step back, and another step back. Carlos sees her start to tremble. Carmen may be a fighter, and she'll do anything to protect the ones she loves, but she is by no means a killer. It only takes two steps to reach her. As soon as he touches her shoulder she turns into him, burying her face into his chest with a loud sob.

"Sh, sh," Carlos murmurs, dropping his sword to wrap his arms around her. "It's okay, it's okay."

"Everything was so fast," She's shaking badly. "I was so scared, I was so scared..."

She keeps repeating that as he rubs circles into her back. They stay for a few moments like this. Eventually Manolo's crying pulls them out of it, and slowly the couple break away from each other.

"You were amazing, mi amor," Carlos caresses her face gently, smiling, "Everything's going to be alright."

She manages to return the smile, even though she's still crying. Together they move to the bassinet, Carmen helping Carlos limp along. Manolo is squirming in his blankets, reaching up to his parents. He's quieted at the sight of them, blissfully unaware of the events that have just transpired.

"Pa-pa. Ma, papa." The baby babbles.

"We need to leave for the church." Carlos says, lifting Manolo into his arms. His heart swells with love and affection. He can't help but beam down at the child. Whatever hells have occurred this night, seeing his son reminds him that it won't last forever. He bounces Manolo in his arms, laughing a little bit.

"Usted no lo sabe todavía,” Carlos coos, “pero tu madre acaba de guardar nuestras vidas. Sí. Tu madre es increíble, sí, sí ella es."

Carmen chuckles a little, and he barely feels the hit on his arm.

"Vamos." She says.

They both turn, and Carlos is still looking down at baby Manolo, so he doesn't see it, doesn't hear it. He only feels Carmen tense beside him. Before he can react his world is passing by as she shoves him out of the way with an ear-piercing shriek.

" _NO!_ "

A gun goes off.

It’s the soldier’s dying act, and Carlos can only watch from the ground in horror as Carmen crumples. He’s screaming, he’s screaming his throat raw, because Carmen, his Carmen, his love, she can’t leave him. Not at the end of this, not after all that’s happened tonight _she can’t leave him_.

It’s like time has slowed down just to torture him, just to make him watch the light leave her eyes, just to make him watch her fall like a puppet with its strings cut. He’s helpless, truly helpless, and he can’t stop screaming. Neither can Manolo, who’s writhing in his arms, terrified by all the noise. He doesn’t know what’s happening. He doesn’t know that his mother is _gone_.

Carlos knows it but he refuses to believe it, dragging himself to her with one leg and one arm.

“Carmen, mi amor, mi amor, please…” His voice is cracked, broken, anything but whole. “Despertarse. _Please_ , d-despertarse…”

She doesn’t. He reaches out to her, hand visibly shaking. Maybe, maybe it isn’t real. Maybe he’ll touch her and she’ll melt away, it’ll all melt away and he’ll wake up from this nightmare. His fingers barely grace over the bullet hole--dear _god_ , the fucking _bullet hole_ \--right between her eyes before his hand flies to his mouth, poorly covering a wail. This is all too real.

“Carmen…” He sobs. He ignores the fact that his eye and his ankle and his shoulder and his chest burn in agony with every breath he takes and uses his free hand to pull her into his lap as much as he can. He can’t let himself mourn yet because Manolo is still crying, and as much as it pains him to not hold Carmen close, his son is still his priority. He doesn’t stop crying but he stays silent. Under any other circumstance he would try to sing Carmen’s lullaby, or at least hum it, but he doesn’t have the strength, or the control. It feels as though if he opens his mouth, he’ll just start screaming again. So he rocks back and forth, back and forth, with Manolo calming down in his arms and Carmen in his lap.

Time stops working for Carlos. Time passes but he’s not aware of it. He’s aware of Manolo slowly quieting. He’s aware of his son finally falling asleep. He’s aware of placing the boy gently on the ground, out of the way. He’s aware of finally, finally pulling Carmen close, holding her in his arms. He’s aware of the blood that has pooled around her head like some sick halo, the blood that has soaked her hair, and the thin line of blood from the entrance wound that trickles down past her eye like a single tear. He’s aware of stroking her face as he starts to shake again, of burying his face in the crook of her neck and sobbing, not loudly, but sobbing, and rocking back and forth again.

He’s not aware of how much time passes.

He’s not aware until sunlight begins to stream through the windows of the house and someone, not the enemy nor his family, enters the house.

“Carlos, you weren’t at the church, I thought you had died, te pequeña--”

The insult dies on the Captain’s lips as he realizes who Carlos is holding in his arms. For the fourth time, a sword clatters to the ground in the Sanchez home.

“No, not Carmen…” He falls to his knees on Carmen’s other side. He doesn’t crowd into Carlos’s space, he doesn’t dare. But he takes Carmen’s hand, cold and lifeless in his own. “What happened?”

For the first time, Carlos lifts his head. The Captain’s eyes are filled with grief; for all the man is devoted to Gertrude, there is no forgetting that he used be in love with Carmen too; there is no forgetting that she was just as much his friend as any other. Yet Captain Mondragon doesn’t look an inch worse for wear from last night and all Carlos can think is it’s not _fair_. It’s not fair that the man entrenched in battle walks away unscathed while the woman as far removed from battle as possible is the one lying dead in his arms. But there is far more grief in him than rage, so he only changes his dead stare to the body of the soldier, still slumped against the wall. Joaquin follows his gaze. The soldier is still holding onto the hilt of the dagger that ended his life with one hand, the other limply holding a pistol. It’s easy to connect the dots.

“She thought she had won,” Carlos can barely make his voice audible. “ _We_ thought we had _won_.”

Joaquin turns back to him, fear and concern in his voice. “And Manolo?”

Carlos looks over at him. As difficult as it is for Manolo to fall asleep, it’s very easy for him to stay that way. He hadn’t even stirred when the Captain had entered. Blood dabbles the boy’s forehead, but it’s only Carlos’s.

He shouldn’t be left on the floor like that.

Mechanically, Carlos shifts out from under Carmen, gently lowering her to the ground. He gathers Manolo in his arms, and for a moment he simply holds him like that. Then he shifts him into his bad arm, and uses his good arm and his good leg to push himself to his feet. He barely puts any weight on his injured ankle, and, limping worse than ever, he makes his way to the bassinet. It’s sickening when he notices the faint blood spatter on it, knowing where it came from. But it’s still the boy’s bed, so Carlos gently lays him down. He doesn’t make a single sound. That done, he turns around. Captain Mondragon has risen to his feet, having watched Carlos’s actions in similar silence.

Standing after sitting all night, leaving his wounds unattended for so long, the numbness begins to leave him and is replaced with pain. Pain over his injuries; pain over Carmen. And there’s just too much. There’s too much clouding his head and his body and his soul and Carlos doesn’t want it. He hasn’t felt this way since he was fifteen and running away from his mother’s funeral. In fact, it feels worse, so much _worse_. It’s like he’s drowning in air, and wants to be rid of it. After all, his rock is gone. Why shouldn’t he just let himself sink?

Slowly he limps to the door.

“Where do you think you’re going, Sanchez?” Joaquin asks. Carlos doesn’t hear the suspicion in his voice. He keeps going.

“Away, Mondragon.” His voice has no emotion to it, no fire.

“What about Carmen?”

“I trust you.” Going down the front steps is harder than he’d like, and he has to pause after every agonizing step. Thankfully there are only three.

“And what about Manolo?”

“My father and grandmother will take care of him.”

The Captain says nothing and for a moment Carlos thinks he’ll let him go. He makes it to the bottom of the stairs.

“ _Carlos_ ,” Joaquin snarls, grabbing Carlos by the back of his collar and lifting him like a ragdoll, up and around and into the wall, next to the door. Pain jars Carlos’s entire body and he cries out, tears welling in his eyes. Joaquin doesn’t seem to care. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, you _son_ of a _bitch_.”

Carlos tries to stare the man down. “Let go of me.”

Joaquin is nothing short of furious.

“What, so you can go for a swim? So you can take the coward’s way out like you tried to do when your mother died!?” He shouts. Finally Carlos’s rage outweighs his grief because how dare this bastard insult him like that. The soldier was the one who fucking promised never to throw his weakness into his pride like salt on an open wound, but the words are flying freely from his mouth like he’s been wanting to say them for ages.

“Don’t mock my pain!” Carlos lashes out with his left fist, and he’s never seen the Captain take a hit so poorly before, but he assumes it’s out of surprise more than pain. Joaquin is reacting long enough for Carlos to squirm out of his grip. Unfortunately he doesn’t get far before Mondragon has him again.

“ _Carlos, I’m not!_ ” The man roars, swinging Carlos around into the doorframe of the house. A scream of pain rips from his throat as the wood digs into his spine. Joaquin is shaking him, almost desperately.

“Can’t you see that I’m _not_? I’m _trying_ to make you angry, I’m _trying_ to get you to feel something other than grief again because I know what this does to you! I learned what this does to you when I dragged you out of the fucking lake twenty years ago! And do you remember what I told you, after I broke your nose for being such a fool? _Do you?_ I promised you I would never let you do that again! And I’m a man of my _fucking_ word!”

Carlos struggles during Joaquin’s entire tirade. He refuses to respond, he refuses to acknowledge what the soldier is saying, he refuses to _listen_ , but he can’t escape those words and he can’t escape Joaquin’s iron grip. Finally he lets out a frustrated, nigh on feral scream.

“ _Why?_ Why bother keeping your promise? The only reason you like me is _dead!_ ” His voice cracks on the last word.

“That’s bullshit and you know it, Sanchez!” Joaquin fires back.

“You want to know _why_ I’m keeping my promise?” Joaquin fists a hand in Carlos’s hair and yanks his head around, forcing him to stare at the corpse of his wife.

“Because of her!” Joaquin points at her. “What do you think she’d say if she found you in the afterlife, having abandoned your own child? What would she think if you just _gave up_ like that?” He points to Manolo. “Because of him! Does he deserve to grow up without _either_ of his parents? Would you put your pain above his own?” He waves his hand in the vague direction of the church. “Because of your familia at the church, Carlos! Because Luis shouldn’t have to learn that he outlived his son, Anita her grandson. There are people who care about you, and there are people you are responsible for. Carmen was forced from this world far too soon, but you can’t just forsake everyone that’s left! You would--”

It’s too much.

“ _Stop!_ ” Carlos bellows.

It’s too much.

His voice falls to a pathetic whimper. “Please...just stop.”

He has no strength left. His head drops and and his hands hang limply onto Joaquin’s forearms. He would sag, collapse completely if not for the soldier holding him up. He's exhausted, and he's drained. He feels like he should have run out of tears by now, but he begins to sob again. Joaquin does nothing, simply continuing to support the bullfighter as he weeps.

“What do I do?” Carlos whispers, looking up at the Captain desperately. He’s never felt so broken or so lost in his life. “Dear _God,_ what do I do?”

Joaquin forces him to straighten.

“You’re a Sanchez man, Carlos. A Sanchez never backs down.” Joaquin usually says this in a teasing tone to mock him. Not so now. Now it’s completely serious. “And when life gives you shit? You don’t bottle the pain inside. You don’t let it fester until you feel you have to drown it. You let the ones who care about you help you. You take a deep breath, and you _carry_. _On_.”

He doesn’t want to, _lord_ he doesn’t want to. He wants to sink into the ground and disappear, but he knows he can’t. He knows that for all their fighting, all their rivalry, Joaquin is often more right than Carlos would ever admit. And he's right now. Carlos can’t just let his grief control him like that. He has to keep fighting, if not for himself, then for that little baby boy in the bassinet. If not for himself, then for Carmen, to fight on in her stead. She would do the same for him. He can’t let her down. He can’t let _them_ down.

For Carmen. For Manolo.

He takes a deep breath.

He carries on.

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, I said I'd write a deathfic, and here it is! As I kept writing I started incorporating my own headcanons on how Carlos handles grief (aka he doesn't, as my view of his actions in the movie) and the end result was something much sadder than I intentioned ;~;  
> May also make this part of a larger series about Carlos and his struggles with loss. Not sure though.  
> Thanks for reading (and sorry for the huge dose of sad)! And, as always, all Spanish comes from Google translate and if there are any errors don't hesitate to message me so I can fix them!  
> PS: This particular story might get a happier sequel in the future.


End file.
